A Text Message
by Knives-kun
Summary: To Hachiman, the text-message was an instrument of pure rationality. A perfect, convenient method of communication for those ever instated in the immortal business of solidarity. So why couldn't he text Yukino?
1. Text Message

To Hachiman, the text-message was an instrument of pure logic and rationale. A perfect, convenient method of communication for those ever instated in the immortal business of solidarity. That much, was indubitable. A simple click of a key could eradicate any leech of foolhardy business, a simple line of characters capable of invoking the attention of pig-headed classmates. Indeed, text-messages were ever practical, impersonal, and straightforward. They allowed communication without the undignified stuttering of the tongue.

"If only they were free," muttered Hachiman, phone in hand, an empty text document ready to be filled.

Now, it was during one of a long, dreary line of grey mornings that he lamented on his squabble with Yukino. There sat Hachiman, ever busy, reading a novel in the club room. You see, Hachiman was never one to mince words, especially when Yukino was involved. However, it seems he had gone too far this time.

 _"Hachiman, you're an idiot,"_

At the time, this sudden declaration did little to tug on Hachiman's mind. It was only when the despondent gloom lied thick upon the streets, and when the murky skies held back its tears, did the slow turning of pages seem small and lost in the silent club room. Initially, he opted to ignore the gloom, and read on, tirelessly. Hachiman was not one to allow a brief pang of emotion to manifest into anything of note.

The hours toiled on, and the club-room's clock struck thirteen. Yuigahama was gone on a month-long family excursion, while the aforementioned Yukinoshita was scowling somewhere else.

"Why do I bother?" a defeated Hachiman concluded. He gathered his belongings, and prepared to walk home.

His walk back was one shrouded by cold, bleak, wintry weather — he hoped that the heated kotatsu and Komachi's smile would offset his icy disposition. He slowly trudged through the snow-laden promenades, passing by glassy sheets of ice where water once flowed. Soon, he arrived at his house, unlocking the door with a single pair of keys, and leaving behind only one set of wet footprints on the doorstep.

In his room, Hachiman caught a glimpse of the photograph frame sitting by the mantle, illuminated by the midday sun.

It was a picture of a boy and girl, the boy smirking sarcastically, the girl sporting a sweet smile. He inwardly cringed at his expression. Honestly, if he cut his head out, it would make for a great picture.

"Goddamnit, Yukinoshita," he grumbled to no one.

Hachiman closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and let out a heavy breath. The whole thing was a jape of the cruelest kind.

As the week progressed, he found himself imagining the swell of the warmth that once existed at the other end of the clubroom table, always happy to serve him a cup of tea. Her ice-blue eyes, cold but understanding, haunted him. It was a sort of harrowing experience, one Hachiman, heated in dismay, ever despised.

It wasn't until Friday evening that Hachiman was obliged - reluctant as he was - to write a letter.

It was, of course, proper conduct after all! Dealing with women required _tact_ , a business Hachiman had perfected with his skill at texting. He shivered, both from the cold weather, and the remembrance of a bitter past. Orimoto was _not_ a pleasant memory.

Hachiman began typing.

 _Yo, Yukino,_

No.

He drummed his fingers on the wooden table. He was apologizing, not inviting her out to drink, Hachiman thought.

"Maybe I'll use that one with Sensei sometime."

Sighing, he quickly deleted the blasphemous line of characters. He flinched at his sudden incompetence.

 _Yukinoshita Yukino,_

That being said, he did miss her a lot.

 _Yukino,_

Yes. Direct, yet familiar.

 _You are missed…_

Hachiman cringed.

 _I require your presence, for I am at a loss…_

 _Both emotionally and socially_ , he mused. He meant it first as weak humour, yet the thought echoed bitterly in his mind.

 _I must concede — no, confess: the very notion of you hating me petrifies me._

Hachiman bit his lip, and then continued.

 _I'm really sorry for showing you that jump-scare cat video._

And with that, Hachiman, his hand slightly quivering, hit the send button, quietly grumbling about the costs.

 _Hikigaya Hachiman,_


	2. Reply

_~nyan!_

Yukino, lamenting on her regrettable (though adorable) choice of notification, shifted her gaze from the bulwark of study material before her to the bulwark of social sensibility before her. Like a general retreating in haste at any notification of a dual-fronted war, she slumped, headfirst, on her desk.

"Sometimes, a courageous retreat is necessary," once said the lazy general, Hachiman [1].

Social quagmire was something to be despised. Yukino had no time for it, yet she, a political princess, was expected to carry herself as such. To don the mask of a noble, even in such trifling, peasant-ly matters. To Yukino, speaking, in it of itself, was an undignified act, a clumsy tight-rope walk above a bottomless pit of accusations.

Picking up her pen, she lifted her head, and began to read over her notes again. At times such as this, Yukino found peace in studying. The repetition of reading, concealing, and recalling was one that allowed her to forget, and succumb to a robotic-like state of autonomous work.

Chuckling, she remarked, "Sounds like something that Hikigaya-kun would say."

And immediately regretted it. She banished the thought. She wouldn't forgive him for that video. She wouldn't allow any shred of emotion to pervade her image of cats.

Behind her, tall chilled windows gave out onto the narrow, snow-scraped front yard. The cold weather permeated through her insulated room, and she curled up, her head between her knees. She was confused. She was embarrassed. She was shivering from winter's decidedly chattering breath.

Truthfully, Yukino hated that Hachiman constantly strayed her thoughts; he was a stray cat within the confines of her fortress. It was a nuisance, yet it was paradoxically podsnapperish - a perusing thief that dined with the victim. It was an irrefutable thought, one she couldn't help but take in. And there the stray cat remained.

Her studious fingers, strained in writing, relaxed.

"Let us at least _consider_ a grovelling dog, shall we?" she affirmed, her hands straying from writing utensil to typing utensil.

 _Yukino,_

 _You are missed…_

 _I require your presence, for I am at a loss…_

 _I must concede — no, confess: the very notion of you hating me petrifies me._

 _I'm really sorry for showing you that jump-scare cat video._

Yukino snickered - his solemn irony not left unfound to her. The jump-scare cat video was the red herring here; she just wanted an excuse to distance herself from him for awhile.

Recently, he had become a coping mechanism. To what? Well, this fact remained a mystery to even Yukino herself. However, this micawberian line of thinking was a dangerous one - dependence was something Yukino avoided.

Her fingers deftly typed a response - _It's alright, Hikigaya-kun_ \- yet the simplicity offered by the text message didn't sit right with her. While it was dignified approach, it lacked the punch of well-worded verbal proceeding. To Yukino, a call was perhaps the more rational solution. She cleared her text, and at the same time, her thoughts.

With the dexterity of a hippopotamus, she navigated to the call app, the call log depressingly logged with blanks. The whites of the menu never failed to frazzle Yukino's usually calm mien. She dialed his number, and tapped 'CALL'.

The phone rang.

The phone rang.

The phone rang.

The reception was never quite reliable around the Yukinoshita Complex. She slipped on a pair of slippers, and trudged out of her room, her house, into footstep-laden snow. Her breath, circles in the cold air, healed over in secret ferns of frost. The phone continued to ring.

Suddenly, the clouds gathered again, bringing an earlier night, and the snow began to fall straight and steadily from a sky without wind, in a soft universal diffusion more confusing than the gusts and eddies of the morning. It seemed to be a part of the thickening darkness, to be the winter night itself descending, layer by layer. The phone kept ringing.

Snowflakes, silver and dark, drifted obliquely against burning street lamps. Sleepily, they came to rest in icy promenades. The days, short as they were, remained impressively bright in light of Yukino's plight. The phone never ceased to ring.

 _BLEEP_ \- the call connected.

With bated breath, she-

"Yo."

* * *

[1] - Hachiman is both a Shintō god of war, and the quote is literally something Hachiman has said.


	3. Snow

A/N: A humble thanks for all the reviews! This is my first ever hand in fiction, so I'm glad it received such great reviews/reception.

* * *

"Yo."

Hachiman's signature greeting left something to be desired.

But to Yukino, it was far more serviceable than a text. It was as every bit genuine as she thought, that verbal strike.

"Yo," she teasingly asserted, copying his mono-tonal dialogue. A snort later, and she confirmed both his mental and physical well-being. She understood - being ignored by her was far worse a consequence than hell on earth.

The snow softened around Yukino, the drizzling snowflakes flaking away; uncharacteristic for the area. She was used to the area's apoplectic nature, the roaring winds and the typhoons that so often struck the Yukinoshita Complex. It contrasted greatly with calmer, more melancholy atmosphere that resided by her Chiba-side apartment.

Trudging through the snow, Yukino felt the gloshing snow crushing under her every step. Her steps firm, she took the conversation in stride.

"So… you, er," Hachiman stammered.

Hachiman hated awkward meetings almost as much as he loved relishing in other's. The silences were thick enough to be cut by a blunt bread knife, and the pain palpable to a tee. On one hand, embellishing the conversation was a necessity in maintaining both the composure of the speaker and listener at hand, however, an excess of words leads to a depressingly quick diminished return in conversational points.

"I forgive you," Yukino giggled.

Hachiman breathed a sigh of relief. His tension, highly strung like an over-tuned guitar, was loosened to a more melodically comfortable level. How could one play properly with such a tense string of lines? He began his plan of attack.

"Oh," he paused, gathering his thoughts, "You… want to get some lunch?"

"Is it your natural instinct to solve problems with food?"

"No, I… fuck" Hachiman replied.

He hadn't anticipated a scheming Yukino.

"You do? So not only are you precognisant to various foods in service of your unquenchable hunger, your're also a slave to your lust?" she answered precociously.

"Silence, you capricious bi-" he cut himself off, in fear of recent events resurfacing, "is this necessary, Yukinoshita?"

"Yukino," she corrected him, "when we meet, call me Yukino."

"Ok Yuki-" he paused, his mind registering the words.

Then he panicked, "Hello? Isshiki, where have you taken my girlfriend?"

"I'm right here, Ha-chi-man," Yukino drawled over the speaker.

Hachiman shook from top to bottom, his facade comparable to Kamakura's in iced liquid (or rather, stark naked in a howling blizzard). He was never one for freak accidents, but presently presented this kerfuffle, he opted to hope for a speeding truck.

"Saize, tomorrow, at 1?" he asked, hopefully.

"While your taste in food remains to be tested, I believe your company should suffice here," Yukino answered.

As did Yukino, Hachiman couldn't pass up an opportunity at snark.

"Oi. Saize is an establishment of family-friendliness both in occupation and culinary delight," Hachiman flatly responded, "the succulent hamburg steak tipped with demi-glace sauce is incomparable, really!"

"Similarly, the docile nature in which you plan the location of our weekly tryst annoys me. Is it not in-character for you to be manly?" she shot back.

"Troublesome woman," he growled, "I'm poor, alright?"

Yukino's snowy walk had been a fulfilling one, and was about return. The light levels beginning to quickly decrease, she decided to wrap-up the conversation.

"You should take better care of me," she said in a sing-song voice.

"I'll see you later, _Yukino,_ " he spat out.

 _Looks like he'll end it for me_ , she concluded.

"Where do you think you're going?" she decided to tease him one more time.

"The bookstore, you?"

It was exam season, and additional textbooks and the like were a necessary burden for all students. Hachiman was no exception in this regard.

"I don't even know where I'm going tomorrow…" she chuckled.

"Don't we all?"


	4. Pleonasm

A/N: A little addendum. Might make this more of slice-of-life kind of thing, now that the main story is _essentially_ done.

* * *

 _"Never half-ass two things, whole-ass one thing. You're an educated girl, you'll make the right choice"._

Hachiman, eyes glued to the TV, chuckled, "Ah, Ron Swanson, ever the able orthographer of many words".

"Hachi, that's a pleonasm," a muffled Yukino retorted from the walk-in closet, "what do you think of this one?"

Tilting, no, craning, his head back around the bend of a couch, Hachiman mustered within him the wherewithal to once again summon a modicum of fashion-sensibility. Though he was never within the realms of _dreadfully ragged_ , something he couldn't quite say about a certain bespectacled otaku, he did tend to stutter when dressing himself up. Fashion wasn't something that came easily to many, Hachiman included. The cranial conundrum of _high-top, A-silhouette, low-cut_ wear never failed to wear him thin. With weary, lidded eyes, he decided to answer with a—

"If you're going to dawdle, at least make an effort to complement me," groaned the impatient Yukino.

A playful grin marked Hachiman's face: _Stage 1, Success_. He got up, sat cross-legged, and stared at the raven-haired… _beauty_? An inquisitive look came across Yukino's eyes, inquiring Hachiman's thoughts on what the issue was.

"Say, why _does_ everyone call you the 'black-haired' or 'raven-haired' beauty? Wouldn't you classify a modern-day _Yamato Nadeshiko_ to be a _bit_ out-of-date, even if your so-called beauty is a massive turn-on every waking minute I stand next to you?" he rattled off.

Yukino, currently occupied with doing a shock of black hair up (surprising, I know), tilted her head back to face Hachiman again, hair-tie in mouth.

"What?" she mumbled incredulously.

She finished her twin-tail, "Can you _just_ tell me if this dress looks nice or not?"

"Honey, Yukino and _nice dress_ is also a form of pleonasm" he muttered, resuming his faux nap.

Cursing under her breath, her patience wearing thin, she walked over to the couch in which Hachiman resided in, and gently placed her hands on his unwilling shoulders. Her tongue, couched with complaints, attempted its 'False Swipe'. After all, if Rattata could do it, couldn't she? She got close to his unknowing ears (his eyes still closed, faking a nap).

"Hachiman, your sister is looking to be a prime-target _after all_ ," she whispered, evilly.

His eyes snapped open. _No, anything but that! That jump-scare cat video was meant for your eyes and your eyes only! My sweet, dear sister could not possibly survive the mental onslaught derived from such a horrid experience!_

His mind spun like a pencil in a boring classroom. He had generally had no experience in fighting off such a hard-headed opponent, he himself only used to such threats as _his sister_ and _his mom_ , both with their wits already squeezed out of them by his general vivacity of un-vivaciousness. This princess, however, required _Logic and Reason_ , something his sleep-addled mind was in dire need of right now. Due to a diminishing stock of said good — like a blind man in an orgy — he was going to have to feel things out.

"W-wha, w-what is a 'pleonasm', anyway?" he managed to sputter.

He had failed to consider his current physical position, his head flanked on two fronts by Yuki no.1 and Yuki no.2; _her arms_. In some ways, he was ever-grateful that it was Yukino and not, say, Yuigahama in front of him right now. He would have to then deal with Yuki no.3 and 4, assets which were _far too large_ to be ignored by any healthy male. Then again, unlike Yuigahama, Yukino was a _thinking_ being. Shots.

She sighed.

"And you told me that my existence was pleonastic with beauty? What if that word was analogous to antonym, you blockhead!" she haughtily returned.

 _Yukipedia, booting up._

"Pleonasm refers to the 'use of more words than are necessary to convey meaning', okay?" she recited.

 _I suppose 'troublesome woman' would be the first example of that, no?_

"Your eyes betray you, Hachiman. You were thinking of something awful again, weren't you?" she glared, dangerously.

"Fish _these_ dead need Omega-3 Fatty Acids, don't they?" he chuckled in return.

"Perhaps we could eat out at some sushi-bar tonight…" Yukino breathed out flatly through the non-existent gaps of her perfect teeth. Any flatter, and her voice could've been used as pavement.

 _The narration is beginning to err on the side of Hachiman. What an influence my existence beholds, huh?_

"That would be wonderful," he mouthed, "and by the way, that dress looks _absolutely stunning_ on you. So much so that I, the prime target for exposure, can't possibly leave this wonderful couch. We should a-dress that issue first, no?"

"Real punny, Hikigaya Hachiman" she continued staring at his face, aggression plastered on hers, victory, plastered on his.

Though perhaps in his state of reverie, he may have missed the face of _Eureka!_ that the Yukino-haired-madame now donned.

 _Stage 2, Success! We have reached peak stalling-time! I may be able to skip this after-all, in one-piece, and most importantly, IN THE COUCH! Now all that's to do is to somehow get Yuki—_ MMF!

Her tongue, having performed Giga-Impact on Hachiman's psyche, left his lips. There was no recoil on her part, her disposition as 'hard-headed girlfriend' imposing such abilities as Rock-Head on her.

"What are you, an Aggron?" he spat out, her… _liquids_ still occupying a generous locale within his oratory instruments.

She smiled, a little too sweetly, her hands grabbing his, "Never half-ass two things, whole-ass one thing!"

She dragged him out the door, date in hand.

Hachiman rolled his eyes, "…you're an educated girl, you'll make the right choice."


	5. Bookstore

A/N A short one for today. Enjoy! Also, I'm thinking about just compiling all of this into one chapter, considering that every section I write is really, really short.

* * *

Yukino looked rather smooth today.

Or so thought raven-haired girl, no Lady, no—

"Pig!" screamed the bespectacled-inconsistently-twilight-hued-female.

Haruno sighed in mock-defeat. _Oink_. What had she done _this_ time?

"Forsooth, tis' but I, verily a lover of yours truly. To what end dost thou raise thee incriminatory exclamation?", Haruno authored, a sarcastic grimace plastered on her face. Truly, an orater of great ability was she, wouldn't she agree? Achieving ninety-one percent in the previous mock for 'Japanese lang/lit' was by no means a rare event, a college-girl she was, through and through.

Regardless, she could tell that she was skating on thin ice. Her constant exfoliation of Yukino's patience weighing heavily both upon said sheet of frozen liquid, but also upon her somewhat shaky sense of empathy for her sister. She deserved better, really!

Haruno had been alerted by a lacke—FRIEND, of hers, that a person resembling her sister had been mysteriously transported into a world where only the color pink existed. Apparently, the invention of superglue had paled in comparison to the hold 'her sister' performed to 'a guy'. Perhaps she should take up Judo? A strong grip, regardless of context, seemed perfect for the sport.

 _Wait, is this why she always beats me in our Aikido spars? That grip?_ she thought humourously to herself.

"Wilt. Thou. Shuteth. The. Fuck. Up?" Yukino seethed in reply.

And just like that, the frozen-ice atop Hell had broken, the embers of her raging made apparent by her sordid stare.

A few metres south, a harried laugh exploded, as if set off by the flames of anger emanating from the livid lady. Hachiman covered his mouth in a hurry, himself suddenly afraid of what end awaited his sudden spurt of insolence.

"C'mon, we're leaving!" Yukino dragged Hachiman out of the store and into the cold streets.

 _Why-oh-why can't we just have a single, peaceful date, without some form of interference germinating in some corner?_ Yukino thought, pitying the current date and the sorry state of its affairs. She glanced at the fish-eyed boy and smiled. At least, in a world of electric chaos and discharged randomness, _he_ remained static. Constant. _Her_ Hachiman.

She mentally slapped herself. _No… let's… just… drop… the… clinginess…_ she chided herself.

"Hey, if a perfect date's s'posed to found in every corner of the world, I guess our world's a circle, huh?" Hachiman stated. His eyes turned to meet hers.

She snorted, and smiled.

"Smooth-sailing along the curvature of this world, then?" she replied.

Hachiman, no longer being dragged, offered a differing approach, "No, I was thinking more that we could spend forever together looking for one."

"A perfect date?"

 _Wouldn't spending 'forever together' be the perfect date?_ She thought, immediately blushing at the intimacy of the statement.

"Hey!" she sputtered, "you'd best be wise throwing out irresponsible statements like that!"

He pouted, teasingly. "What, is forever with me such a _square_ concept to you?" he teased, gripping her hand, and lifting up the set of interlaced appendages in front of her.

Once again, a shade of pink seemed to have been injected into the scenario, a saturation so romantic the colors of Hachiman and Yukino seemed to dissipate and combine. Just as the Third Impact rendered Earth a jelly-filled soup of combined humans who simultaneously decided to homogenize molecularly and psychologically, so to did the gripping of Yukino's hand by Hachiman homogenize the romantic atmosphere around the two.

She wanted to glomp him. Her eyes scrolled to his, hungrily. Though her demure stature often said otherwise, she _was_ naturally the more aggressive of the two.

But she couldn't! A pair of unwanted eyes suddenly became evident.

Haruno grinned. _She knows_!

 _Fuck it_.

She pull his hands closer, laying her head on his shoulder.

"You're really smooth today," Hachiman murmured.

"Really?" she purred in response.

He let his mirth slip for a moment, "In more ways than one."


End file.
